


Flirting's Over

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, Frottage, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, OT3, Sheriarty - Freeform, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-20 03:41:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/580927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It made his skin crawl that Sherlock was kissing him back with such ferocity, not resisting at all. The more he studied them wrestling around in each other’s mouths, the more he realized that there was no romantic connotation to this kiss; it was a battle, just as everything had always been with Moriarty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flirting's Over

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't originally going to post this, but a few people on tumblr coaxed me into it. Why do I write these things. This was more for my own amusement than anything else, so ignore my terrible grammar and repetitive writing style. This might also be one of those fics where physically impossible things are happening. Oops.

Head pounding, vision blurred, muscles weak. His eyes opened cautiously, trying to understand what was happening. He went to touch a hand to his head; he felt something warm blossoming there and thought perhaps he was bleeding. His arm would not raise. His wrists were bound behind him, and as he tried to move the rest of his body he found his ankles were similarly bound to the chair he was sitting in. This felt familiar.  
  
“Glad you could join the rest of the class, Johnny Boy.”  
  
His heart sank into his stomach. That crooning voice was not one he was in any hurry to hear again. The last time he’d been in the same room as this man, he’d ended up with semtex strapped to his chest, and he wasn’t in any hurry to do that again. Before he could register a response, he heard another voice, also familiar. One that would have been comforting in other circumstances but at the moment was the last voice he wanted to hear. It was low, barely more than a whisper.  
  
“John.”  
  
He almost groaned. What did Moriarty want with both of them? Last time he’d taken John as bait; as a warning. To show Sherlock that he could destroy everything near and dear to him. What did he have to gain by taking them both?  
  
Sherlock’s voice had come from behind him, and he wished so terribly that he could turn around to insure his flatmate’s safety.  
  
“Sherlock? Are you alright? Are you hurt?” His voice was raspy from nonuse, and he kept his volume low, directing his words only at Sherlock. He was determined not to acknowledge Moriarty.  
  
“I’m fine, John. I—”  
  
“How heartwarming. I’m touched, truly I am. Sherly and Johnny Boy are so into each other they’ve nearly forgotten I’m in the room. Lucky for you boys, I’m about to make very certain you don’t make that mistake again,” Moriarty chimed mockingly. John heard rustling behind him, and then felt his bindings being loosened. He immediately massaged the skin rubbed raw on his wrists and then began unfastening the bindings around his ankles.  
  
“I wouldn’t get so excited if I were you. You should have guessed there are snipers watching. Sherlock knew that right away. But you’re not as clever as old Sherlock, are you?”  
  
John sneered at the man and turned around to find Sherlock. He sat not too far behind John, submitting to Moriarty, not showing a struggle, not showing reluctance. To any other person, Sherlock would look perfectly calm, but John knew otherwise. There was something in his eyes, the way he was carrying himself; he was nervous. And if John knew one thing, it was that nothing that made Sherlock nervous was ever good.  
  
“You’re bleeding,” Sherlock commented much too passively for their current situation. John’s arm instinctively rose to touch the spot on his forehead. Although he didn’t sound it, he knew Sherlock was genuinely concerned, otherwise he wouldn’t have bothered to point it out at all.  
  
“Ahem,” Moriarty cleared his throat impatiently. “You’ll live, I should think. That’s twice you boys have made the mistake of forgetting I’m in the room. And after we get down to business, you won’t do it again.”  
  
John swiveled his head to look at Moriarty, and then back to Sherlock. He studied his surroundings. The room was bare, apart from the two chairs that he and Sherlock were seated in. The walls, a cool, unforgiving gray; hard and cemented. He didn’t recognize where he was, but he knew wanted to get out as soon as possible.  
  
“Sherly already knows why I’ve called you here. I just couldn’t wait for your sleepyhead to wake up to tell him. I’m sure you can guess some of the rules without me telling you. There are snipers all around prepared to blow your pretty little heads off if you don’t do as I say.”  
  
John had an ugly expression on his face, which Moriarty immediately read.  
  
“Don’t look so sour there, John. We’re going to have a little bit of fun. Nothing to be so upset about.”  
  
“What do you want?” John demanded harshly.  
  
“It’s simple, really. I want you,” he motioned to John, “to fuck him,” and then back to Sherlock.  
  
John’s mouth fell open in a full on gape. “ _What?_ ”  
  
“What part of that didn’t you understand? I want you to bend over Sherlock and _fuck him_.”  
  
“You’re sick.” John was trembling with rage.  
  
“I’m sick? What about you? I know you’ve thought about fucking him. Taking his cock in your hands, your mouth. _Fantasized_ about it. And Sherlock knows it too, don’t you Sherly?” The grin on Moriarty’s face made John want to vomit. Sherlock didn’t acknowledge the comments made towards him.  
  
John’s fists were clenched, his face was twisted in anger; yet he couldn’t deny some of the truth the Moriarty’s words. Yeah, he’d thought about it. How could he not when everyone and their mother was suggesting it? Of course he’d considered it. It wasn’t typical of him, he was definitely not gay—but his relationship with Sherlock was anything but normal. No matter what, there always seemed to be some kind of invisible force drawing him to Sherlock. He knew Sherlock hadn’t meant anything by it, but one day when Sherlock had given him a short shoulder rub after he’d complained of it being stiff and John had walked away blushing, he knew there was something there he couldn’t ignore. But seeing as Sherlock had declared himself married to his work, John intended to do just that. He knew nothing would ever come of it. It would be complicated for Sherlock and confusing for John. It was better for the both of them that he never acted on the impulse.  
  
Now he was being forced to at gunpoint. If it was ever going to happen, this wasn’t how John wanted it. After this, it might be impossible for them to ever have a relationship beyond friendship. In fact, it may be impossible for them to even maintain that. How could they fix themselves after something like this? He knew, even for someone like Sherlock, this was going to be traumatizing. He clamped his eyes shut tight. He was suddenly aware that he was sweating.  
  
“Sherlock...” His voice wavered as he faced Sherlock.  
  
“John, it’s fine,” his voice was small.  
  
“Don’t get ahead of yourselves boys. Haven’t I been telling you not to forget about me so quickly? Naturally, I’ll be joining in,” Moriarty chimed in eagerly.  
  
“No, no. I’m not—I can’t do this! I can’t!” John yelled desperately. Making them go through with this was enough, but there was no way he wanted Moriarty’s filthy hands all over Sherlock, and he wasn’t too eager from them to be on himself.  
  
“Your life isn’t enough ransom, then? How about the bomb planted right over sweet little Mrs. Hudson, then?”  
  
“No…you bastard,” John seethed. He couldn’t even scream he was so angry.  
  
“I thought that would be plenty enough to persuade you. Now, shall we?”  
  
John swallowed hard.  
  
“You’ll be doing everything I tell you, of course. Johnny Boy, I thought you might be experiencing a little bit of stage fright considering the circumstances. Sherly, why don’t you help him out before we proceed? Foreplay is quite important.” With a jerk of his head he motioned for Sherlock to move towards John. “Do not kiss him,” he hissed venomously.  
  
Sherlock stood up from his chair and strode over to John.  
  
“On your knees,” Moriarty barked. Sherlock did as he was told. “I don’t think you need me to tell you what to do next.”  
  
Sherlock looked up at John through a strained expression, the corners of his mouth tense. John had to tear his gaze away from his, he couldn’t bear to look at Sherlock in the face. He never wanted any of this to happen this way.  
  
“Well get on with it! I’m not going to get hard from watching you two make googly eyes at each other all night,” Moriarty teased.  
  
Sherlock slowly placed both his hands on John’s thighs, and ran them up to the zip of his trousers. John shivered from the contact, and he could tell Sherlock’s hands were trembling slightly. He bit his lip as Sherlock tugged down his zipper and wriggled his trousers down to his knees. He tried to hide his sharp intake of breath as he felt Sherlock’s slender fingers going down the waistband of his pants. He couldn’t hide his gasp when those fingers found the head of his cock and then gripped him firmly. John barely even had time to register it before Moriarty snapped at Sherlock.  
  
“With your mouth, my dear.”  
  
John sighed deeply. He was so conflicted he didn’t know what to do. He wished this wasn’t happening.  
  
 _But oh, God, that mouth…_  
  
No, this wasn’t fair. His body wanted this but his mind didn’t, why couldn’t this just be consensual? He wished he could close his eyes, open them again, and instead of sitting in this hard, uncomfortable chair, he could be sitting in his armchair in the flat; Sherlock on his knees smirking below him, taunting him. Ready to take him in with that sinful mouth, to please him, make him scream.  
  
 _Shit shit shit._  
  
That thought definitely wasn’t doing anything to help him; he could feel the tension pooling in his groin already. One hand still running up John’s thigh, Sherlock slid his pants down, exposing his now hardening cock. He supposed under other circumstances, he’d be incredibly embarrassed.  
  
“It’s okay, John,” Sherlock half whispered, not looking up at him. What was okay? The fact that they were having non-consensual sex and it was arousing John? No, none of this was okay.  
  
Without warning, Sherlock took John’s entire length into his mouth, taking several slow strokes and expertly suppressing his gag reflex. John gasped, his body writhing in pleasure but his mind screaming for it to stop. He was fairly sure no one else had ever taken him that deep. Sherlock was a virgin, his ass. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t stop the little sounds of pleasure that escaped his mouth. God, Sherlock was so warm around him, so good.  
  
He made the mistake of looking down to watch Sherlock’s head bob up and down over his cock, his cheeks hollowed with suction. He suppressed the urge to tangle his hands in this hair, to push him down, to fuck his mouth. Sherlock was now circling his tongue around his head, sending pleasure washing over him and causing his hips to arch involuntarily.  
  
“Go on, John,” Moriarty taunted, reading his body language and knowing what he wanted.  
  
John was almost relieved to hear that, allowing him to indulge in his wants under the guise of an order. Almost instantly he brought up a hand to the back of Sherlock’s head, tangling his fingers in his hair, bringing it down to the back of his neck, touching his skin; trying to give him something akin to a gentle caress to apologize for this whole situation. John threw his head back as Sherlock increased his pace, and several gasps and moans escaped John’s lips. He was completely hard now, and knew if Sherlock kept going he could finish him off no problem. Bloody hell, he was good at this.  
  
“Alright, that’s enough!” Sherlock’s head snapped up as soon as Moriarty yelled. John let his hand fall and graze Sherlock’s cheek on the way down. They were both panting.  
  
“I think you’re both worked up enough, eh?” He strode over to Sherlock, who was still on his knees, and stroked his head lovingly, like a pet. His hands trailed down to his shoulders and he pushed off Sherlock’s suit jacket roughly. Sherlock kept his eyes fixed on John, his face stoic.  
  
“Strip for me, Sherlock.”  
  
Still making eye contact with John, he tersely began unbuttoning his shirt, robotic in his motions. As more of Sherlock’s skin was exposed, John imagined unbuttoning Sherlock’s shirt himself. He imagined himself, laid out on Sherlock’s bed, the weight of Sherlock straddling him, the feel of his skin as he freed him of his shirt, his hands free to explore. That could never happen now, not after this. Moriarty had ruined it for them.  
  
Sherlock finished removing his shirt and still standing behind him, Moriarty ran his hands across Sherlock’s shoulders and down his chest. Sherlock shivered, voluntarily or not John didn’t know.  
  
“Trousers too, hun.”  
  
John watched as Sherlock revealed even more of himself. Under ordinary circumstances it’d be incredibly tantalizing. That expanse of pale skin looked so inviting; he wanted his lips on every inch of it. As he began to remove his trousers and pants, John felt the heat rising in his cheeks. He wanted this show to be for him. He wanted Moriarty gone, Sherlock was his.  
  
Reluctantly, Sherlock lowered his trousers and pants to his knees, and John was surprised to see him half-hard. Was that on behalf of John, or Moriarty? Or perhaps he was getting some perverse arousal from this whole situation? He thought of Moriarty’s words from earlier and realized they could not have been more true. He most definitely wanted his hands and mouth on that cock. He wanted to make Sherlock moan and gasp like he’d just done to John.  
  
“Up,” Moriarty commanded as Sherlock stood and removed the rest of his clothing completely. John gulped as he drank in the sight of Sherlock completely naked and aroused, and he wished that he didn’t look so gorgeous. “You too, Johnny Boy. Trousers off.”  
  
John did as he was told and fumbled with removing his trousers from around his ankles. He felt incredibly foolish and frumpy compared with Sherlock’s lithe and graceful form.  
  
“Well, you know what I want. Bend him over,” he declared with a venomous smirk. “Oh, I almost forgot.” He rummaged in the pocket of his suit jacket and extracted a small bottle. “I’m not that cruel. Mustn’t hurt dear Sherlock. Have to prep him first.” He tossed the bottle to John.  
  
Lube. John was actually thankful. He’d had anal sex before (albeit, with a woman) and he knew it required preparation. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Sherlock. He looked up at Moriarty who was still smiling eagerly and gave a jerk of his head towards Sherlock as a sign to proceed.  
  
Sherlock walked over to John, and to John’s surprise took of his hands in his own.  
  
“Sherlock. I—I’m so sorry,” he whispered close to his ear. John wondered if Moriarty’s no kissing rule still applied. Sherlock looked sympathetic and gave John’s hand a squeeze before turning his back to him. He bent over and braced himself on one of the chairs. John glanced up at Moriarty, who looked incredibly miffed.  
  
John swallowed hard. This was going to be awful. Actually, he supposed it was going to be rather wonderful, but the fact that he was thinking that was only making it more horrible. His thoughts were so convoluted as he opened the bottle and slicked his fingers with the lube, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of Sherlock bent over in front of him. It was all his to take, but he felt incredibly guilty doing it. Sitting the bottle aside, he placed one hand on Sherlock’s hip. Leaning over him, he uttered, “Alright Sherlock, are you ready?”  
  
Sherlock almost sighed in response. “John, I know you believe otherwise but I have done this before. I trust you with my life. I can trust you with this.” John was taken aback by these words. One, because he’d never heard Sherlock talk about his sex life before, and now didn’t seem like a particularly good time to start. Just like Sherlock, ready to correct him at the drop of a pin. Secondly, he was surprised at Sherlock’s trust in him, though he supposed he shouldn’t be. He’d saved Sherlock’s life on more than one occasion, and had always been prepared to kill to do so. He presumed that their undying trust in each other had always gone unsaid, shown through actions rather than words. Furthermore, Sherlock had never been one to voice his feelings out loud, but to hear them now was comforting.  
  
John leaned back, his hand still gripping Sherlock’s hip. Taking a deep breath, he cautiously pressed his index finger into Sherlock. Sherlock shifted nervously, but didn’t show any signs of discomfort as John worked his finger slowly in and out. God, he was so tight and warm. The carnal instincts in the back of his mind wanted nothing more than to replace that finger with his dick as soon as possible.  
  
He carefully introduced another finger and gripped Sherlock’s hip tighter. He heard Sherlock’s breath hitch and felt him tense up. John hoped he wasn’t hurting him, but he realized when Sherlock arched his back towards John that _he liked it_. Shit, this was unfair. They were both enjoying this under the completely wrong circumstances. Why couldn’t they have done this on their own terms without Moriarty holding a gun to their heads?  
  
Biting his lip, he inserted a third finger and about fainted when he distinctively heard a low moan come from Sherlock. He was doing that, it was all John. John making Sherlock pant and sweat. He’d imagined Sherlock disheveled in lust more times than he cared to admit, and now he was actually the cause of it. Even though this whole situation was sick, he was overcome with the desire to make Sherlock feel good. Twisting his fingers in and out, he expertly angled them to hit Sherlock’s prostate (he’d given prostate exams before, after all). Sherlock threw his head back, letting an even louder moan out. John must be good, it was difficult to get this much reaction out of him for anything.  
  
“You’ve given him enough. Get down to business,” demanded Moriarty, who, to John’s horror, had his own hand down his trousers. The sight snapped him back to reality. This wasn’t just about Sherlock and John, Moriarty was there too, and he wanted to join in on the fun. This was his game, and he was calling the shots.  
  
Obeying the orders, he removed his fingers from Sherlock and retrieved the bottle of lube. He slicked his own cock with it, and bending down he let his hand trail down Sherlock’s arm. Just as usual, Sherlock could tell exactly what John was thinking and moved his arm up to take John’s hand and tangle their fingers together.  
  
Taking a deep breath, John pressed his cock carefully into Sherlock; the sight of it disappearing into Sherlock was almost too much to take. Sherlock suddenly let go of John’s hand, finding he needed that arm to steady himself. He was breathing hard and John could tell he was trying not to call out. He himself was biting hit lip so hard he thought me might draw blood. The sensation of Sherlock hot and tight around him was driving him mad, and he was seconds away from pounding into him without restraint. No, he had to contain himself. He couldn’t succumb to his want, not this time.  
  
Grasping Sherlock’s hips firmly, he took a moment to appreciate how smooth his skin was before slowly and continuously burying his cock into him. God, this felt good. Not only that, it felt _right_. It felt absolutely right for him and Sherlock to be this close, this intimate. If he was honest with himself, he was sodding in love with this man, though it was going to take a lot for him to ever admit that to Sherlock. That was even more dangerous than just sex.  
  
As John built up his pace, the both of them were finding it more and more difficult to contain themselves. His nails dug into Sherlock’s sides, and the friction between them was incredible. Cheeks flushed, he gritted his teeth and took sharp breaths, trying to keep his wits about him. John changed his angle, trying again to hit Sherlock’s prostate. He responded by arching his back and breathing huskily, “Oh, God, John.”  
  
John let out a sound akin to a whimper. The fact that Sherlock was still so turned on by this under these circumstances—it sent waves of pleasure through his spine. John was slowly losing his self-control; his thrusts becoming more erratic, rougher. Despite this, Sherlock didn’t show any signs that it was causing him any discomfort. In fact, it was quite the opposite. He was making small noises of pleasure, his head thrown back, which only fueled John’s own arousal. He suspected Sherlock was holding back, not wanting to give Moriarty the full show.  
  
“Jesus, Sherlock,” he hissed through a clenched jaw. He moved one hand to brace the small of Sherlock’s back, and brought his other hand down over his thigh until it was met with his cock, now fully hard. He clumsily wrapped his hand around it and began to pump furiously, causing Sherlock to writhe and tense around his own cock.  
  
“John, ahh, that’s—!” was all Sherlock could muster before dissolving into a fit of groans and labored breathing.  
  
“Fuck, Sherlock—” Sherlock wriggling and contracting underneath him was making his mind go fuzzy. He forgot all about Moriarty being there, how they got in this situation in the first place. The sound of Sherlock wantonly calling his name was intoxicating, and he wanted to do everything he could to make sure it didn’t stop.  
  
“HANDS OFF,” Moriarty roared, snapping John back to reality. Immediately his hand flew from Sherlock’s dick and he replaced both his hands on Sherlock’s hips. For the first time since he’d started, he took his eyes away from Sherlock and looked up to see Moriarty with his own trousers undone, his erect prick protruding from them. He swallowed hard.  
  
“I don’t like to be ignored, boys,” he purred, strolling over to Sherlock and lifting his chin with one finger. “And I don’t think Sherlock is going to forget me ever again after this.”  
  
He pulled Sherlock up off the chair, and John had to put a leg up on the other chair in the room to keep them both steady. Moriarty grabbed Sherlock by the jaw roughly and crashed their lips together, while he guided Sherlock’s hand onto his cock. John was filled with a burning jealousy. Sherlock was his. It was John’s name Sherlock had just been calling out, not Moriarty’s. It made his skin crawl that Sherlock was kissing him back with such ferocity, not resisting at all. The more he studied them wrestling around in each other’s mouths, the more he realized that there was no romantic connotation to this kiss; it was a battle, just as everything had always been with Moriarty. Each of them was trying to gain dominance over the other. He observed as Sherlock expertly worked his wrist over Moriarty’s cock, causing him to take heady breaths, while Moriarty clamped his hand around Sherlock, making him involuntarily jerk his head back. All the while, their mouths wide open, teeth nipping and tongues wrestling.  
  
“I didn’t say stop, Johnny Boy,” he snapped at John, unaware that he’d froze to observe those two go at it. As soon as he resumed the motion in his hips, he temporarily forgot about everything but Sherlock, the feel of him tight around his cock, his skin underneath his fingertips. He distinctly heard Sherlock whimper as he thrust into him.  
  
Now that Sherlock was in a more upright position, John was able to stare at the back of Sherlock’s neck intently. His skin was so smooth, unmarked. To John, it looked like a canvas. He wanted to plant kisses all over it. To suck and bite and mark him; claim him as his own. He leaned into Sherlock, pressing his face close against his skin. He took in his scent. He was masculine, musky, and salty from sweat.  
  
Ignoring the battle Sherlock ad Moriarty were currently engaged in, John leaned in closer to Sherlock and breathed his name in his ear before playfully nipping it with his teeth and trailing his mouth down his back and over his shoulder, assaulting his skin with little bites and kisses, still thrusting into him roughly.  
  
Moriarty growled at these actions, and removed himself from Sherlock’s mouth to roughly suck and bite at his neck, this time fighting for dominance over Sherlock with John. He pulled Sherlock closer, pressing their cocks together, and began stroking them together and rolling his hips against Sherlock’s, trying to create friction between them.  
  
Sherlock was undone. He was being assaulted from all side; John pounding into him from the back and Moriarty’s heat up against him from the front, the both of them nipping and kissing his neck and shoulders from both sides. The noises that escaped his mouth were incoherent, and John didn’t care which one of them was making him moan. The sound of him crying out in pleasure was making that familiar tension build up in the pit of his stomach.  
  
In between the two men, Sherlock only groaned one name.  
  
“Nng, John.”  
  
Moriarty turned livid. He grabbed Sherlock’s jaw roughly and hissed into his ear.  
  
“ _Do not. Say. His name_.” His mouth came down over Sherlock’s again in an attempt to silence him.  
  
John couldn’t help but smirk. This was a contest, and John was winning. Moriarty wanted all of Sherlock’s attention; wanted to prove he could get it over John. But he couldn’t.  
  
Hearing Sherlock call his name that last time was nearly enough to push John over the edge. He thrust more furiously than he had before, building his orgasm, tension pooling inside him.  
  
“Sherlock, I’m—,” was all he could get out in warning. He felt himself go stiff, and he pushed into Sherlock slowly and sensually as he came, riding out the waves of his climax and filling Sherlock.  
  
Sherlock called out, the sound muffled by Moriarty’s mouth over his. John let himself slide out of Sherlock, his cock still slick with lube and semen, but slumped forward onto his back, pressing his flushed skin against Sherlock’s, not wanting to be rid of his touch. Moriarty was still thrusting his and Sherlock’s cocks together, and he grabbed Sherlock by the hair and shoved his head back, again nipping at his neck. He made glaring eye contact with John.  
  
Sherlock shuddered, bucking his hips hungrily into Moriarty. Despite this, he snuck a hand behind him to again tangle with John’s. He squeezed John’s hand. He huffed louder and more frequently, and John knew he was nearing his climax. Moriarty ground his hips eagerly and more rapidly into Sherlock, his hand still wrapped snugly around both their cocks, pumping them both. Sherlock’s body began to tense up, and as he gripped John’s hand even tighter, John knew what was coming.  
  
“Oh, God, ahhh—!” Sherlock cried out, his body tensing and writhing, spilling over onto himself and Moriarty, his hand still tangled with John’s. He fell lifelessly forward, still panting. John could have sworn he felt Sherlock’s thumb caress his hand.  
  
“Sit Johnny Boy, you’re done. Don’t look so spent, Sherlock. I’m not done with you yet,” Moriarty snapped. John reluctantly did as he was told and sat in the chair he had previously been propping his leg on. He watched in disgust as Moriarty shoved Sherlock to his knees, grabbed him roughly back the back of the head, and forced his cock down his throat.  
  
He held Sherlock in place and thrust into his mouth forcefully, over and over. Sherlock grabbed onto the front of Moriarty’s trousers for support. John stared at the back of Sherlock’s head. He wondered if that’s what he looked like when he’d been sucking John off. No, it wasn’t. Sherlock had done the work himself, eagerly, lovingly even. It wasn’t like this; Moriarty forcefully taking from Sherlock what he didn’t want to give.  
  
Moriarty gripped onto Sherlock tighter, his head thrown back and his eyes shut. John noticed his breathing increasing, the corners of his mouth twitching. His pace slowed, and his body jerked oddly and then stiffened. He held Sherlock’s head over his cock, forcing him to swallow.  
  
He then casually removed himself from Sherlock, did up his trousers, and straightened his suit jacket. He smirked as he looked upon Sherlock who he’d left on the floor. He then started laughing. It started small, and it grew until it became maniacal, unbearably loud. John had never heard a more awful sound.  
  
“Well, it’s been fun boys. We’ll have to do this again sometime. Though, perhaps I’ll leave John with his girlfriend next time.” With that, he strolled out the door, a snap of his fingers indicating that the snipers had been called off. As soon as Moriarty was out of sight, John clambered down to Sherlock.  
  
“God, Sherlock, are you okay?” he inquired urgently his fingers fluttering over the marks on his neck, the more aggressive ones from Moriarty.  
  
“I’m fine, John. The only thing wounded is my pride, although I expect my jaw will be a bit sore tomorrow. And you?”  
  
John struggled to find his words.  
  
“I’m sorry, Sherlock. All of this—yeah, okay. I might’ve wanted it to happen, but never like this. I would never force this on you.” Sherlock stood and faced John.  
  
“John, I assure you, I don’t blame you for any of this. On your part, I was willing, though this wasn’t the way I wanted it to come out.” He fell silent. “You were willing too. You liked it.” Sherlock knew more about John than John did. He knew he wouldn’t be able to hide it from Sherlock.  
  
“He was trying to ruin us. Maybe this would have happened between us eventually, but he was trying to make it traumatizing. Maybe even ruin our friendship,” John stated, ignoring Sherlock’s implications.  
  
“Indeed. He didn’t take one thing into account though. I have a secret weapon,” Sherlock said slyly, taking a few steps towards John and wrapping his arms around him. John detected a slight tremble in his limbs.  
  
“What’s that?” John asked, his arms coming up to reciprocate the embrace.  
  
“I’m in love with you.” With that, he crashed his lips upon John’s, his hand coming up to cradle the back of his head.  
  
John melted underneath Sherlock. Kissing him was unlike kissing a woman. He was rough and stubbly and musky, but absolutely perfect. Sherlock opened his mouth wantonly and begged for John to open his. John quickly complied, letting their tongues collide; hot and wet and excited. They wrestled around, exploring each other for several minutes before breaking it off, Sherlock’s teeth grazing John’s lip before leaving him completely.  
  
“You’ve no idea how badly I wanted to do that through this entire ordeal,” John almost laughed.  
  
“Oh, I think I do,” Sherlock teased.  
  
John managed a smile. This was a bump in the road, but it had also revealed something else, something that couldn’t be stifled so easily. He looked at Sherlock, disheveled and flushed, and realized that all of that belonged to him. And he belonged to Sherlock. And honestly he wasn’t sure why the both of them hadn’t realized that earlier. They were two halves of a whole, and they’d completed each other before they could realize anything was even missing in the first place. They were tied to each other forever; they’d made a bond that could never be broken, and if anything this ordeal had just proved that tenfold. They were in love, to put it simply, and in this moment it was trumping the terrible things that had just unfolded.  
  
 _Your move, Moriarty._


End file.
